


Living In a Life That Few Could Understand

by luciferinasundaysuit



Series: Music City 'Verse [2]
Category: Band of Brothers, Generation Kill, The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music & Bands, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:10:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferinasundaysuit/pseuds/luciferinasundaysuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Music is about honesty, about passion, about life.  This is the story of a six piece band, a blues singer, two duos, a retired rockstar, and the people in their lives.  They're all just looking to make a place for themselves in the crazy town that is Nashville, Tennessee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living In a Life That Few Could Understand

For most bands, sound check and rehearsal were probably routine and fairly uneventful experiences. For The Bayou Boys and their associated acts, nothing was ever entirely routine or uneventful, as anyone who met them would soon come to know. 

Babe sat behind the merchandise table at the back of the room, behind and to the left of the bar. If he thought it afforded him some small amount of protection, he was a smart man. He folded t-shirts with Gene’s face on them and tank tops with Eddie’s lyrics printed in hot pink and waited for some sort of inevitable chaos to unfold. He didn’t have very long to wait.

Joseph Liebgott paused in his late afternoon routine of polishing shot glasses to offer some advice to his house band and their crew.

“Turn Shelton’s mic down, for the love of God.”

Their sound guy bowed up at that, thin shoulders taut with tension. He wasn’t one to take instructions when he thought he was right.

“Nobody asked you, Liebgott.” 

It wasn’t exactly true, but Ray sure hadn’t asked for help. He didn’t need it. All he needed was a few minutes to get things right.

“Eddie did.”

Ray was good at his job, but that didn’t mean that he could hear from every vantage point in the bar at once.

“I don’t need your help.”

Joe tossed his rag down on the top of the bar.

“Fuck you, Person, this is my bar, and Eddie asked me how the sound was. You’ve got Shelton sounding like shit.”

Eddie looked mildly amused, too busy with helping Snafu and Gene tune their guitars to get involved in arguments. He had asked Joe for his opinion, but he didn’t really have a dog in this fight. He, Snafu, and Gene were sitting on the edge of the stage, trying to tune two guitars a half step down and one a full step down, in addition to the usual two Snaf and Gene used and the one he picked up on occasion, plus his peddle steel and his Dobro. Not a single working electronic tuner could be found in the bar, Joe‘s loft, or any of their apartments, so they had their hands full tuning off of each other.

Ray swung down from where he had previously been perched, body dangling from the door of the old truck cab that the bar’s previous owner had turned into a sound booth. Joe wanted to replace it every time he looked at it, but the crowds loved it, and Gene said it added character. Besides, it had been Gunny’s pride and joy. Taking it down just felt wrong, somehow. The flaking red paint served to make Ray look even more indignant as his feet hit the floor.

“Who’s the sound engineer?” 

Ray knew what he was talking about, even if he did make a mistake every now and then. Just because he was young didn’t mean he wasn’t good at his job. The setting of Snafu‘s microphone wasn‘t wrong, per se. It was just a matter of preference. Maybe he still didn‘t have the whole country-folk-hipster-rock-punk-Cajun thing down, but who the hell did? He’d only been with the boys for a few months, and they’d been playing at Joe’s ever since they came up from Austin and Memphis, back when they were still spending half their time in New Orleans, even before Eddie and Walt had joined the band.

“Who has decades of musical experience?” 

The frustration Joe felt was evident in his voice. He knew the set the guys were going to play better than some of them did.

“Two decades, you’re only 32, grand master. Just because you were an almost superstar once doesn’t mean you know everything about music, especially not technically.”

In response, Joe clenched his jaw, glaring at Ray with burning eyes. Most people knew better than to bring up his past career. Unsurprisingly, it was a topic Joe didn’t care to discuss. 

Hoosier, who was polishing glasses next to Joe, was, like Ray, not most people. He stepped a few feet down the bar before quipping, “Aww, hell, Joe, ain’t it better to be a has-been than a never was?”

Instead of responding in kind like he usually would, Joe let his expression tell Hoosier his opinion. He wasn’t pleased. He was a smartass and most of the people around him were smartasses, but he’d rather not joke about his broken dreams. Never would probably be too soon.

Hoosier turned to the back of the bar and caught Babe’s eye, both of them more than content to watch the drama that was taking place in the barroom. It wasn’t his fault Joe was the only one with enough success to even have the choice of being a has-been.

Walt’s amused snort broke through the pause, dissipating some of the tension in the air. He leaned down from his stool in the middle of the stage, sat his bow and rosin in the case at his feet, then ran his clean hand through his hair.

“Look, Ray, Joe knows what he‘s talkin’ about. Listen to him and fix Snafu’s mic. I know you’re still gettin’ used to our kind of music. Hell, I think we still might be. Snafu‘s mic really is turned up too high, though, especially for the song we’re gonna open with. It‘s all about his and Gene‘s harmonies, and Snaf can‘t be too loud.”

Ray still wasn’t convinced.

Setting his jaw in determination, he argued, “I still think it sounds fine.” 

He was close to giving in, but no one ever claimed he wasn’t hard-headed.

Walt sighed, knowing they weren’t much closer to finishing sound check than they were half an hour ago. Ray was a great sound guy, but he didn’t like taking direction at all, probably because people were quick to dismiss him because of his relative youth. Walt knew the feeling. Still, this time, Joe was right.

“I have an idea, then. Let’s ask Snafu, seein‘ as how it‘s his mic. Snaf? Opinions?”

Snafu spit out the guitar pick he’d been holding in between his teeth and spoke directly into his microphone, as if to prove a point.

“Just turn my goddamn mic down, Person. If I drown Gene out, we sound like we don’t know what the fuck we’re doin‘. This show is like our millionth one in this venue. Why are we even havin’ this conversation?”

“Because Ray’s stubborn as a mule,” Burgie laughed from behind his drum kit.

Ray didn’t think he was funny, even if he did have a point.

“Burgin, I thought we were friends,” Ray pouted, although he would never admit it, even under pain of death.

“We are, but Walt needs to control you better.” 

Walt blushed, and Ray raised his eyebrows.

“For your information, Romus Valton Burgin, Walt does not control me. I am not a pet. We are not dating. And that asshole is siding with you.”

“…Right.” 

Burgie’s expression said that he was less than convinced. He grinned at Ray.

“Whatever, bros before hoes, man.”

Ray opened his mouth to respond when Chuckler cut him off preemptively, pushing off the back wall where he had been leaning to stand up and sit his bass on the stand.

“Ray, if you call Florence a hoe, I will kick your ass, and Snafu and Eddie’ll help me. River‘s nice and wide. They‘ll never find the body.”

Indignant didn’t come close to describing Ray’s response.

“How dare you insinuate such a thing? I would never call Florence something like that. She has more manners and class than all of you idiots put together. Besides, clearly, I am not that guy.”

Chucklers’s lip quirked up ever so slightly. 

“It’s probably a good thing you said that.”

Ray paused, a stricken look crossing his face.

“She’s right behind me, isn’t she?”

Florence, who had indeed come to stand right behind Ray, looped her arm around his waist.

“I can’t believe you didn’t hear me come in, Ray. Then again, the other boys told you Merriell’s mic was turned up too loud.”

When Florence entered the bar, all the tension seemed to leave at the same time. She always had a calming effect on the boys next door. She had ever since she bought the restaurant next to Joe’s, even when it had been just him and Hoosier and whatever talent he could scrounge up. Really, any sane presence would calm these boys down, but they were few and far between, and Florence was the best by a long shot.

Putting his hands on Florence‘s waist, Ray asked, “Are you against me too, Florence? I thought you were my girl.”

“I thought I was Valton’s girl.”

Burgie shouted, “Hey, Person, hands!”

Ray picked her up and swung her around in the air, clutching her tightly to make sure she didn’t fall.

“Nope, you’re my girl.”

“Josh Ray Person, put me down!” 

She tightened her arm around his waist and slung the other around his neck, clinging to him for dear life, extremely aware of the fact that he wasn’t much bigger than she was.

Laughing and spinning, Ray tightened his grip. He wasn’t going to drop her if he could help it.

“If I let you go, you’ll go back to Burgin!”

She snorted into his shoulder.

“You have to put me down eventually, Josh Ray.”

He stopped spinning momentarily, pacing instead.

“Nope, I can just carry you around all the time. You’ll be my shoulder-Florence.”

“Kitty might get jealous.”

Everyone knew that Ray and Kitty were surgically sewn together at the hip, which was pretty impressive considering how much time she and her husband slash duet partner, Harry, spent together.

“I’m a strong guy, Florence. I can carry one of you on each shoulder. It’ll be great.”

She was full-out laughing now.

“If I fall into a crumpled heap on the dirty floor - no offense, Joe - and die, then I trust the rest of you to avenge my death.”

Ray started spinning her again.

“I would never let that happen to you, Florence.”

Footsteps echoed down the step’s from Joe’s loft, and Ray stopped in his tracks.

“Joe, thanks for letting me use your offi - Person, what the hell are you doing?”

Andy looked bewildered to see his band’s sound engineer carrying the drummer’s girlfriend around the bar. In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have been.

“Uh, carrying around my shoulder-Florence?”

Amusement filtered across Andy’s face.

“Any chance you could put your shoulder-Florence down and finish up here? The guys still have to run through a few songs, and Hoosier needs to practice his set because he was covering Harry’s shift yesterday. Skinny and Shifty need to run through their set when they get here, too. If Harry and Kitty are going to close for you boys, which they may or may not do because Harry’s throat still hurts, they’ll need the stage for a while too.”

Ray shifted Florence to his side.

“Right, let me just…”

He spun Florence around one more time before sitting her down on the edge of the bar in front of Joe.

“Hey, Florence.” 

She held her arm out to him and smiled when he accepted her hug.

“Hi, Joe.”

Gene called across the room, “Hey, darlin‘, good to see your pretty face among all these heathens.”

She smiled, glad to see Gene in a good mood. He was a sweet boy, but he could get so melancholy. Babe had helped with that a lot lately.

Burgie stood up and walked over to her post on the bar, pulling her against his chest. She snuggled into him, glad to see him after a long day.

“Aww, it’s so cute I could barf.”

Hoosier wasn’t the world’s biggest romantic.

Knowing what would happen next, Burgie resigned himself to pandemonium.

“All right, y’all have one free minute to flirt with my girl. After that, we’re taking this outside.”

Florence let out a laugh that was almost a cackle, then put a hand over her mouth. The next minute promised to be interesting. A girl could always count on attention from this crowd; she and the other girls had agreed on that, and the thought of Burgie fighting one of these boys was definitely laughable. Anyway, he knew she could take care of herself, although it wasn’t an issue around a group as harmless as this one.

Looking up from his Dobro, Eddie said, “Oh, pretty lady, it is good to see you.”

Eddie could always be counted on to be flattering yet polite. It was one of the things the all the girls loved about him.

Andy sat down on the stage next to Eddie, almost close enough to touch, but not quite.

“We do miss you when you leave us, Florence.”

Florence grinned at the two of them.

“You boys always say the sweetest things.”

Chuckler added, “That’s right. We miss you.” 

He held out his arms to let her know how much, which was quite a lot. He almost hit Gene and Snafu in the ears with his hands, and she snickered at him. He just smiled bigger.

Walking down the bar to stand right behind her, Hoosier half-whispered, “A lot. The most,” into the ear not pressed against Burgie’s chest, making her jump. She smacked his shoulder, lovingly, and he winked at her before going back to cleaning shot glasses.

Walt leaned down from his stool, reaching out to Florence even though she was half way across the room. 

“It hurts us, Florence.”

She made a hand-heart at him. Being the youngest, there was something about Walt that made Florence and the other girls want to look after him.

Snafu, leaning away from Chuckler’s long arms and almost into Gene, said in the most serious of tones, “A constant pain.” He clutched his heart with the hand that wasn’t around the neck of his guitar.

Florence rolled her eyes. Snafu could be counted on for sarcasm, and she loved him for it.

From the back, Babe yelled, “It’s unbearable, Florence!”

His red hair fell into his eyes, and he shook it away so he could widen his eyes in her general direction.

“Oh, Edward, I love you so.”

She meant it, too.

“Florence, you aren’t a nun, so please, dearest, don’t call me Edward.”

“You let Gene call you Edward.”

Slipping down from the bar and wrapping both of her arms around Burgie’s waist, she waited for the fall-out, which promised to be entertaining.

She could see Babe and Gene both trying to think of an answer, but Snafu beat them to it, as he often did.

“Oh, Gene makes him see God too, from the way I hear it.”

Everyone tried to keep a straight face for a moment before the entire room dissolved into laugher.

Babe and Gene both flushed, Gene turning a deeper shade of red despite his darker coloring.

Babe pretended to be insulted.

“Florence, the damage to my reputation is your fault. I will boycott your restaurant.”

Trying not to grin at the empty threat, she said, “That’s a shame, Babe, because Snafu and Gene just helped me get my beignets perfect.”

Snafu nodded. “We did. It took all morning and a call to Gene‘s grandmama, but this woman now makes the best beignets this side of Louisiana.”

“Oh, devil woman, how you tease me.”

Babe leaned back in his chair in mock distress.

Florence couldn’t help but smile at him. Burgie tried to look stern, but she could feel him shaking with laughter. Babe was precious, even when he didn’t want to be.

After he had lined the last of the clean glasses up on a towel, Joe turned to Florence.

“Really, it keeps us up at night, Florence. The pain, that is.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, and he beamed at her. He was a charmer when he wanted to be, that one.

Gene struck a G chord. 

“I toss and turn like the sea.”

The lyrics made Florence think of the writer that hung around sometimes, the verbose one, Webster. She thought his words were lovely, even if the boys sometimes didn’t. She knew she wasn’t the only one who appreciated him, though.

Hoosier cocked his head toward Gene in confusion.

“Shinedown? Really?”

“What?” Gene sighed.

It wasn’t a secret that Gene didn’t really have barriers as far as genres were concerned, but people (Hoosier) still liked to pick on him about his eclectic taste.

“That lead guitar is hot, but not for a Louisiana man?”

In response, Gene gestured toward Snafu with his guitar.

Hoosier shrugged, pausing in his work to consider.

“Shelton’s an anomaly in almost every way, though.”

Snafu gave him a one-fingered salute, and Hoosier just grinned.

“Love you too, coon ass.”

Louisiana pride was one of the most amusing things about Snafu and Gene, according to the other guys.

“Born, raised, and damn proud.”

He started up the opening chords of “Louisiana Saturday Night.”

Joe tossed a rag at him, barely missing Florence.

“Oh, sorry, Flo. No redneck pride rallies in my bar, Shelton.”

“Fuck you, Liebgott. There ain’t any rednecks in here.”

Joe tilted his head to one side and pointedly looked around the room.

“Really?”

Half the room looked bemused, the other half annoyed.

Snafu just stared blankly at Joe.

“Again, fuck you. I’m a coon ass and so’s Gene, Burgie’s a Texan, which is it‘s own thing altogether, Walt’s a farm boy, Hillbilly’s obviously a hillbilly, Hoosier’s clearly a hoosier, Ray’s a hick, Florence is our token Aussie, and Chuckler, Babe, and Andy are Yankees such as yourself.”

Burgie, Chuckler, and Hoosier slow clapped, Florence ducking so Burgie could move his arms around her, Gene saluted, and Ray and Walt hummed the chorus to “Kiss My Country Ass.” Eddie and Andy shook their heads at the group they had taken up with.

Joe leaned back against the far side of the bar and crossed his arms.

“You play in a country band.”

Snafu put his guitar down next to him, the third one he would use that night, and leaned forward, as if that would somehow help him prove his point.

“Joe, you live in Nashville.”

Joe shrugged.

“What can I say? It’s where musicians come to die. You’re still a fucking redneck.”

Snafu smirked at Joe.

“I’m not a fucking redneck. Hell, right now, I’m not even fucking a redneck. Oh, damn, sorry, Florence.”

She rolled her eyes at him. Only Snafu would apologize for language with more language. He knew she didn’t care, anyway, but she appreciated his effort.

The corners of Joe’s mouth turned up ever so slightly.

“Hey, don’t talk about Gene like that.”

Snafu nodded, recognizing the blow Joe had landed.

“Hey, it was one time, and it was prom night, it doesn’t count.”

At the mildly shocked look on Babe’s face, he backtracked. 

“That was a joke, Heffron. Just a joke. We woulda told you about that shit.”

With amusement, Joe said, “He might not have. He’s a liar in a redneck band.”

Pointing back at Joe, Snafu replied, “We can take this outside, Liebgott. We don‘t play until eleven. I’ve got plenty of time to show you how we do it on the bayou.”

Quiet fell over the bar for a minute, no one knowing quite what to say.

Gene caught Florence’s eye, and they both burst into laughter, which effectively broke up church.

Gene doubled over, forehead pressed to the body of his guitar. Florence sagged back against Burgie, who leaned against the bar for support, and Hoosier sprawled his torso forward to put his hand on Burgie’s shoulder, with Joe leaning into Hoosier‘s side. The four of them gathered in one giggling huddle. Eddie fell across Andy’s lap, holding his Dobro in the air above them, Andy‘s arm around his shoulders. Ray was literally on the floor with laughter, and Walt almost fell off his stool onto him when he bent down to pat Gene on the back. Chuckler was laughing the loudest, true to his name, and he sat down on the stage and flat-out guffawed. Babe half-laid across the merchandise table, body wracked with silent bouts of laughter. Snafu tried not to give in, but he eventually cracked up, putting his face in his hands and snickering.

Once Gene caught his breath, he sat up and gasped out, “Damn, Snaf, you wanna fight him or fuck him?”

Snafu reddened as much as he ever did, which wasn’t much, then reached over and poked Gene in the ribs.

“Fuck you.”

Gene grinned, tilting away from Snafu’s jabs with practiced ease.

“I thought that was only that one time. Besides, I‘m a lead singer now, I have standards.”

“Touché, Eugene.”

Andy wiped the tears from his eyes while Eddie slowly extricated himself from his lap.

“Okay, men, before we all laugh ourselves into an early grave, sound check. Skinny and Shifty will be here at 0600 - six, sorry - and Hoosier still needs the stage before then. Kitty says she and Harry’ll be here about an hour after the boys, and no one’s supposed to breathe the same air as Harry. Since I have Harry and Hoosier and Burgie all playing tonight, I’ll help out behind the bar, Joe. Knew it was a good idea to get that bartender’s license in law school, just in case. Your waitresses are running a little late, but that’s our fault. This morning’s practice blew a fuse in our apartment building. Sorry about that. They won’t be but fifteen minutes behind, though. Everyone good? All right, get to it, then.”

The Bayou Boys took the stage, Hoosier went upstairs to change his strings, Florence walked over to the merchandise table to help Babe finish folding shirts, and Ray got back in the sound booth. Joe took their cue and wiped down the bar one last time before heading up to the office to finish filling out inventory forms. Everyone had a lot to do in a short amount of time. Friday night at The Screaming Eagle was always bound to get interesting, so they needed to be ready ahead of time.

**Author's Note:**

> Follows "Custom Made for Every Mother's Son." The title is taken from "I'm With the Band" by Little Big Town.


End file.
